Zach doubted it was any different with Extra Credit Caleb. He was pretty sure this was all about scoring brownie points with Ms. B. But that was about to end. They’d gotten to the old stone wall. This was as far as Zach wanted Caleb to go. He dropped his skateboard to the street, implying that he planned to skateboard the rest of the way home.

“So really, Zach, what do you think about the club?” Caleb asked.

There it is, Zach thought. There was no reason why Caleb would give a hoot what he thought of the club. No reason why he should care if Zach joined or not.

“Listen, Zach,” Caleb went on. “You have as much right to be in that club as anyone else. I mean, if those idiots Crosby and Gavin are keeping you from joining…”

Zach was about to get on the skateboard but he stopped. Was it that obvious that the reason he wasn’t going to join the eSports club was because of Ratface Crosby and that crowd?

“Just think about it tonight, okay?” Caleb said.

A chipmunk scurried along the stone wall and vanished into a crevice. Zach was baffled. He didn’t know what to make of Caleb’s suggestion.

“See you tomorrow,” Caleb said, and turned away. Zach stepped onto the deck of his board and pushed off, but after a dozen yards, he did a frontside slide and looked back. Caleb was walking briskly, as if he was in a hurry. As if he’d just taken care of one task but still had others to complete. Zach thought about what he’d just said. The truth was, playing The Good War on a Providia X-Master with a fast connection was super tempting. Gaming without lags or screen stuttering would be awesome. And more importantly, did he really want to live the rest of his life in fear?

Dinner that night was boneless, skinless, tasteless free-range chicken, kale and quinoa salad, and sweet potatoes. Just once Caleb wished he could sink his teeth into a bacon cheeseburger. But his parents would rather starve than eat anything tasty and unhealthy, and they expected the same of him. Also expected of him tonight was his daily report. In addition to doing the dinner dishes, recycling, flossing, practicing piano, walking Cooper, and picking up her poop, Caleb was expected to recount for his parents what happened at school each day.

“Have you found a photographer for the yearbook?” his mother asked.

Caleb was the yearbook photo editor. If he did well, he could look forward to being the managing editor next year. For the past few weeks he’d been interviewing photographers for the student portraits. “I think so. He’s new and way less expensive than the others.”

Caleb’s father took off his thick black-framed glasses and cleaned them with a napkin. “Less expensive isn’t always better. How do you know he’ll do a good job?”

“I thought his portfolio looked cool,” Caleb said. “Besides, Ms. Dean, the yearbook advisor, says there isn’t enough money in the budget for the photographer they used last year.”